


Warmth

by helvel



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Coffee and cuddling, Fluff, M/M, javier hates being cold and charles is big and warm okay, this stuff writes itself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 19:43:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17987435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helvel/pseuds/helvel
Summary: Charles watches him, considering. “You don’t like the cold.”





	Warmth

“Alright there?” Charles asks.

Javier glances up from his spot by the fire to find Charles there with the coffee pot. He nods and holds out his cup. The coffee steams in the cool morning air as it pours, nice and hot, and Javier brings the cup back beneath his face to let the warmth rise up around him. It smells burnt, again, but Javier has always felt that morning coffee was more about thawing off the night’s chill than the taste.

Charles doesn’t care much for it either, nose wrinkling with every sip. Javier watches his profile for a moment. Charles looks off into the distance, watching the sun rise over the trees.

“This seems like a nice spot,” Charles says.

The place is called Horseshoe Overlook, apparently, and though they’ve only been here one night, the sounds of camp beginning to wake up around them are as familiar as ever. It will be a while until they’re properly settled, but they’re all ready to put Blackwater - and what followed it - behind them.

“Anything is better than those mountains,” Javier says. He shivers at the memory, inching closer to the fire and pressing his hands tighter around the warm mug.

Charles watches him, considering. “You don’t like the cold.”

“Does anyone?”

“Suppose not. Not cold like that, anyway.”

The way Charles says it is absent, like he’s not bothered if Javier feels like continuing the conversation or not. They sit like that for a while, quietly sipping coffee by the fire, until Charles dumps out the last dregs from his cup and gets to his feet. He says nothing, but he briefly lays a hand on Javier’s shoulder before going on his way, and the warmth it leaves behind says enough.

* * *

That first night is the worst. The mountains are miles behind them, nothing but a memory now, but their icy chill settled so deeply in Javier’s bones that he’s sure he’ll never be warm again. The girls set up his sleeping spot near the fire, and they make sure his bedroll warms by the flames before nightfall, because they’re good to him – but there’s nothing to be done for it. Hours later when he finally curls up in his bedroll, Javier is still too cold to even take off his gloves.

Charles is on night watch, so Javier uses the empty space beside him to move even closer to the fire. It’s no use. His nose over the edge of the bedroll might as well be made of ice for the way it feels.

He pulls up his scarf, but quickly ends up with it in his mouth. He tries tilting his hat over his face, but it rolls away with the slightest movement. Javier has a reputation to maintain, and it won’t do for his finest hat to roll away into the fire as he sleeps.

Cold, exhausted, and desperate for anything that would just let him fall asleep – when Javier rolls over for the hundredth time and sees Charles’ jacket just  _there_ , he doesn’t hesitate before pulling it close and burying his chilled nose in the fabric.

There’s no way any body heat clings to it, not when it’s been hours since Charles took it off. But it smells like woodsmoke and horses, and somehow, warmth.

That’s how Javier wakes in the morning, with his face still pressed into Charles’ jacket and the sun starting to rise over their new camp. He’s blessedly, comfortably,  _finally_ warm.

The cold returns immediately when he sits up, but Horseshoe Overlook’s cold is nothing like Colter’s cold, and it won’t be long before the sun is high enough to burn off the morning chill.

Until then, there’s coffee.

* * *

Two weeks later, John asks Javier if something is wrong – which, frankly, is an insult, if someone as tone-deaf as John thinks that the chords are off. He’s not wrong, though. Javier’s fingers are cold and stiff and slow over the strings, and nothing sounds right.

It’s this damned chill. A sudden downpour had caught them by surprise earlier in the day, and though Javier had changed into his third best jacket to let his second best dry by the fire, the air is too damp to shake off the chill.

Javier even considers putting on his first best jacket. It’s too nice to be worn anywhere at camp, but he’s just  _so damned cold_.

Of course, there’s something better for the cold than his first best jacket. He glances over his shoulder into the tent, just to make sure it’s there. It is – folded up in the tent, just beside the bedrolls – Charles’ jacket.

It was only supposed to happen that one night. Javier had grabbed Charles’ jacket because he was cold and exhausted, and it was close at hand. Charles takes the night watch so often, though, and if he doesn’t need his jacket, Javier puts it to good use.  

He’s always careful to return it before morning, and he hasn’t been caught, thankfully. Charles wouldn’t rib him about it the same way the other men would, but Javier doesn’t want to change what was becoming their regular morning coffee routine. Morning would come, Charles would return to their tent none the wiser, and he’d offer to pour Javier’s coffee while they sat by the fire together.  

Knowing the jacket is waiting for him in their tent already helps Javier rid himself of the chill from the day. It’s going to work out perfectly. Except, it doesn’t. Arthur takes the night watch that evening, and Charles returns to the fireside to settle down in the bedroll beside Javier.

_Mierda._

Charles lays on his back, with his hands folded over his stomach and the edge of the bedroll pulled up only to his hips, because Charles is one of those impossibly warm people who doesn’t need to sleep with his face buried in someone else’s jacket just to keep from freezing at night.

Tonight of all nights, with the damp chill that makes every breath ghost up in the air, Javier is left with an icy cold nose and Charles’ jacket  _right there_  in front of him, inches from his face, but out of reach for what Javier wants.

Javier could just take the jacket. Charles is asleep, anyway, and it could all be brushed off in the morning with an excuse about mistaking it for his own in the dark. Javier bites his lip, considering.

Charles clears his throat.

His eyes are closed, but that was a deliberate sound. Javier watches his profile for a moment, before Charles shifts one thick arm slowly closer to Javier.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. It’s clear what he’s offering.

With only a bit of wriggling, Javier inches over to Charles’ side. It’s only another slight shift to press his face against Charles’ arm.

That scent is there, just like his jacket, woodsmoke and horses and warmth. This time, there’s true warmth beneath it with the heat of Charles’ skin radiating through the fabric.

The chill of the day is gone within moments, but Javier remains there until morning. They wake up just as the sun is beginning to rise. For the first time in forever, Javier feels like he doesn’t need coffee to shake off the morning chill, but he still accepts a cup when Charles offers. 


End file.
